


Oblique Et Coupant

by blanchtt



Series: 500X LEDA [10]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10695996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: Hormone deficiencies. REM cycle imbalances. A generally poor sleep schedule, nowadays. There are more than a few possible reasons why Shay feels herself surface groggily back to consciousness, opens her eyes slowly to a dark room, and sighs





	Oblique Et Coupant

**Author's Note:**

> #300 - how to be dead

 

 

 

 

Hormone deficiencies. REM cycle imbalances. A generally poor sleep schedule, nowadays. There are more than a few possible reasons why Shay feels herself surface groggily back to consciousness, opens her eyes slowly to a dark room, and sighs.

 

Three in the morning, if she’s not mistaken. It doesn’t happen too often, but when it does, it’s _always_ three in the morning.

 

 

 

(“That’s a pretty shitty party trick,” Cosima had said once, the two of them lying together in the same bed, face to face in the early hours of a rainy Tuesday morning.

 

“Tell me about it.”)

 

 

 

Cosima is at her back, sleeping soundly, and Delphine presses in close, and trapped between them, Shay does her best to convince herself to close her eyes, to go back to sleep because she has an early morning run in a few hours, followed by a long day of work.

 

But willing herself to do so does little to grab at the quickly-dissipating feeling of sleepiness, and Shay cracks an eye open again, stops resisting, and relaxes.

 

She’d imagined that insomnia would be worse with a partner, and doubly so with two.

 

Not so.

 

Cosima is curled like a cat behind her, forehead resting on the back of her shoulder, an arm flung around her waist and snoring softly, and unable to turn for fear of disturbing her, Shay looks ahead.

 

Delphine’s stillness as she sleeps is almost upsetting, and Shay smiles ruefully at the thought. It’s a good thing, really, but she can’t help but want to reach out, to touch fingertips to the swell of Delphine’s breast, just above her heart, to check it’s still beating.

 

 

 

(She does it so often that the gesture has lost its raciness. Delphine often frowns, debates with her gently that Cosima is the one that Shay should worry about still, though more often than not Delphine’s hand reaches up to cover her own, to hold her close as Delphine tilts her head down and buries her face against her hair, presses a kiss to her temple).

 

 

 

After Cosima’s feverish tossing and turning, the incoherent murmurings, the ragged coughing that would come and go violently, anything less leaves the bedroom unnaturally quiet.

 

But ultimately Shay stays her hand, knows Delphine’s a light sleeper and that if she squints in the dark she can see that Delphine’s sides do rise and fall minutely, reassuringly, features calm and peaceful in sleep in a way that she hardly ever sees.

 

 

 

(“When I can’t sleep,” Delphine had said, thoughtful as they’d sat around the kitchen table late one night. “I like a cup of tea.”

 

“That’s not very scientific,” Shay had teased, though she’d put on a pot to boil anyway – chamomile to encourage sleep, though she knows now that Delphine’s favorite flavor is raspberry.

 

“No,” Delphine had agreed with a smile. She’d cocked her head then, and shrugged. “Then touch.”

 

“Oxytocin?” Shay’d guessed, and watched Delphine nod, accept the cup of tea she poured for her and pushed gently across the kitchen table. “What a romantic.”)

 

 

 

She reaches out, brushes against Delphine’s hand tentatively, and swallows a flicker of guilt as, predictably, Delphine's fingers slip through hers a moment later, ever attentive. 

 

" _Va dormir_ ," Delphine murmurs encouragingly, words half-obscured by the pillow her face is pressed against.

 

And Shay smiles, closes her eyes and gets comfortable, Delphine's thumb tracing light, sleepy patterns over the back of her hand, because whatever it is - a chemical, an emotion, or, as Shay'd like to think of it, a healthy mixture of them all - Delphine's got the right idea, because it always works. 

 

 

 


End file.
